Chapter 3
Mac chuckled at Luke and Amelia’s childish enthusiasm, but noticed that Whitney was much more reserved. Figures. After all, she was the one who stole the turkey, although he could appreciate her situation.
She was on edge—probably plotting what she was going to do if he said no.
He wasn’t fooling himself for a minute that she wouldn’t make a run for it.
The girl was stubborn, no doubt about that.
But it would be disastrous at this time of year, and the thought of finding them all frozen in a snowdrift, or the victim of the reported rogue cougar, made his stomach turn.
That was not going to happen.
Thinking about the situation was all he’d done since he left yesterday. He hadn’t told her that he had no intention of allowing Luke and Amelia to be taken away from her because he wanted her to face the situation as it was. To be realistic and admit she couldn’t do it.
Other things were swirling around in his head as well.
Like how beautiful she looked in that pretty pink dress with her shiny blond hair plaited in matching pink ribbons.
And those cute freckles dusting the pink in her cheeks.
His male appreciation was off the charts.
He’d never met a young woman with so much determination and selflessness that she would raise her younger siblings alone.
True, this was the Ozarks, and family was everything among the mountain people, but that kind of sacrifice was incredibly mature.
She was one special little package, and he didn’t intend to let her get away from him.
No, he had a plan, alright, but he knew she wasn’t going to like it—at least not at first. He wouldn’t give her any choice in the end.
Once the meal was over, and Luke and Amelia were settled in front of the stone fireplace with some paper and writing materials Mac had brought them, he nodded to Whitney. “Why don’t you show me those supplies, Whitney?”
“Fine,” she snapped. She put her thin jacket on with a huff and pulled a stocking cap over her hair, then opened the door and rushed out.
“No need to be short,” he scolded mildly as he followed her out and shut the door.
Her eyes widened in resentment. “There’s every need,” she bit out. “You’re intruding where you’re not wanted.”
He stopped and grabbed her hands to hold her still. “Unless you want me to just go straight to the sheriff, I suggest you stop snarling at me like a rabid raccoon. I’m trying to give you a chance here, so stop being a brat.”
She glared at him for a moment, then dropped her eyes and gave a terse nod. “The root cellar is behind the house. We can start there.”
“Lead the way.” He let go of her hands and waved towards the back of the cabin.
She pointed at a stretch of land where some straggly cornstalks were still standing.
“Dad and Mom have always had a big garden, and we kids would help with it all summer. We kept this one up after Dad left. Mom taught me what can be canned and what can be stored underground,” she explained curtly.
“Even eggs and meats can be canned if you know how.”
He nodded. “Yes, I know. My mother has always canned and stored. My sister does too, but she’s getting married in the spring so that she won’t be there much longer.”
She took him on a tour of the root cellar, the cabin pantry stores, the barn, and their last stop was the woodshed, where he could see her wood supply.
She even told him she was going to town soon to stock up on staples.
As she’d outlined her plans, Mac was impressed.
She was quite the little homemaker, even if time and weather were against her, but she hadn’t mentioned what they would do about warm winter clothing or anything like that.
His eyebrow arched. “Do you have money for staples? It looks like you need to stock up on some heavier clothing and coats. I didn’t see any in the house.”
She flushed with irritation. “I don’t need to open every box and wardrobe,” she said tartly. “Do you want to see our clothes? If so, I can show you.”
He was pretty sure she was bluffing, but it didn’t matter at this point. As hard as she had worked, she still wouldn’t make it through the winter without some help. He would have to help them, and he had an idea—if she would go for it.
Noticing the axe in the tree stump by the woodshed, he assumed she or Luke had been putting up wood. Neither one of them had much strength, though. He walked over, opened the door to the woodshed, and looked inside.
He was impressed again. It was full to the ceiling, but he knew it still wouldn’t be enough. They really needed to add onto the shed because the winters were harsh up here. She would still have to get out in the cold and chop wood occasionally, and that could be dangerous.
He also noticed the bench just inside the door and the strap hanging on the wall above it. Apparently, the father of the family had been a firm believer in discipline. Well, so was he. And speaking of discipline, it was time to get a specific task taken care of.
Turning around, he saw Whitney hanging back and staring off into the trees as if fascinated by some sight he didn’t see. Grinning, he knew what was on her mind...the same thing that was on his. The spanking he’d promised her.
“Whitney,” he called, crooking his finger at her. “Come here, young lady.”
***
WHITNEY JUMPED WHEN Mac called her name, but she didn’t obey him. “Yes? What do you need? Are you satisfied that I have plenty of wood for the winter?” She lifted her chin rebelliously. The tamped-down anger that had been on low simmer since his announcement yesterday began bubbling all over again.
Mac strode to her and took her by the elbow.
“You don’t have enough for the entire winter, and you know it, but that’s beside the point.
You and I have some unfinished business.
We might as well get it over with right now, especially since you’ve so conveniently left the woodshed until the last. We’ll talk when this is over. ”
“Let go of me,” she snarled. “If you’re talking about spanking me, you might as well think again. You’re not going to do it—I won’t let you.” She tried to jerk her arm out of his grasp.
“Oh, yes, I am,” he stated firmly, “it’s the least you deserve.”
When she tried to kick out at him again, he dropped his shoulder, picked her up, and carried her the rest of the way to the woodshed, where he set her down, pulled her inside, and closed the door. He watched her as he took off his heavy coat and hung it on a peg by the door.
Whitney tried to back up, holding her hand out as if to thwart him, but Mac took her forearm and pulled her to him as he sat down on the bench, tugging her neatly across his firm, denim-covered thighs.
“No, stop it, Mac! I’m not a child anymore, you can’t just spank me like this,” she yelped desperately as she clawed at his pants legs, trying to get a hold of something solid.
She felt a cool breeze as her pink dress was flipped over her back, and her face turned crimson at the thought of him seeing her butt in the threadbare underwear.
The lacey band had long since yellowed, and the satiny material stretched too tightly across her rounded cheeks.
It was thinnest right on the crest of her buttocks.
“No, you’re certainly no child,” he agreed, running his palm over her trembling globes.
“But you still deserve a spanking. Stealing is a very serious matter, and it needs to be addressed. Since you don’t want me to turn you over to the law, I’ll have to serve justice myself in the time-honored tradition of the mountain folk. Unless you’d prefer the sheriff?”
Whitney knew she was trapped. Mac wasn’t playing fair by holding her theft over her head to get his way. Still, a minor niggle of truth told her he was correct. Consequences were a part of life, especially among the mountain folk.
“Al...alright,” she finally agreed, flushing scarlet. “But not bare-bottomed.” She wiggled, impatient for the punishment to be over now that she had agreed. It wouldn’t make much difference in the pain, but at least the panties preserved her modesty—sort of.
“Justice is best served on a bare bottom,” he growled, lifting his big hand and bringing it down with sharp, stinging slaps on her shrinking bottom. “But I can live with your ultimatum.”
Whitney gasped and flailed her arms uselessly.
She was right—the panties did nothing to shield her from his hard palm.
She gritted her teeth and tried to endure his scolding, which was almost worse than the spanking.
He laid down his rules in no uncertain terms—arrogant pig.
Whitney’s anger simmered as she listened with an occasional yelp of outraged pain.
“You can stay up here, but only under my supervision, Whitney.”
“What?” She squealed indignantly.
“And I’ll be checking on you regularly and making sure you have what you need.”
“I don’t need that,” she gritted between her teeth, trying to hold the traitorous tears in.
He ignored her and continued. “I’ll be going to town with you tomorrow, and my mom and sister can watch Luke and Amelia while we are gone. And we’ll be seeing the preacher about getting married in the near future. Those are my terms for you to stay up here.”
Whitney couldn’t believe her ears. Married?
Who did he think he was to demand she marry him?
She would never marry a brute who dished out raw fire to her tender flesh, leaving her in agony as she squirmed helplessly.
She was so humiliated and angry that she couldn’t even speak.
Her backside felt raw and blistered, and the tears tore free from restraint and ran in rivulets down her face.
Giving him the satisfaction of making her cry really galled her.